"Thus might I have e'ne gone on to Doomsday without their minding a word I said, for by this time the Fumes of the Liquor, which it seems they had been tunning in all that day, conquer'd that little Reason they had left, and threw 'em all into a bruitish sleep."

"Instead of those sage and grave Notions that used to fill my Head, 'twas cramm'd top full of Whimseys and Whirligigs, by the vehement agitation of my distemper'd Fancy, as ever a Carkase-shell with Instruments of Death and Murder."